A Christmas Daryl
by Remi Savant
Summary: Daryl has lost his way and is guided by some familiar ghosts...


A Christmas Daryl

Written by Remi Savant

Edited by Rckyfrk

Merle Dixon was dead, to begin with. More specifically, he was dead, reanimated as a walker, and killed again. This distinction is important so that this tale not be dismissed as anything more or less than it is.

It was a cold, dark world, even beyond the wintery chill in the air and the presence of only the full moon and stars to illuminate the night sky. The world belonged to the dead now. Some people were literally reanimated corpses, while others were just dead inside, having given up all hope for a tomorrow. This is where we find Daryl Dixon...

Daryl had been a man who was quite adept at survival, but had never really lived. Never, that is, until Beth Greene came along and taught him to have hope and to believe in the good in people. She had been the light at the end of the tunnel for him, then she was taken away from him in the blink of an eye. Daryl and the others had buried her and said their goodbyes, but something died in him. He wasn't the same man that he had become. Emotionally, he was closed up tighter than ever. Dark. Bitter. Solitary.

Daryl had been tracking a deer for a quarter mile already. He preferred hunting to the nonsense Rick and the others were up to, even in the dark. Who had time to celebrate a holiday, especially one like Christmas, that was no longer relevant when winter was upon them? They should be focusing on food, shelter, and warmth. Survival. He took aim with his crossbow. He just had the deer in his sights when he heard it...a rattling sound, like chains.

"Oooooo." A voice seemed to emanate from everywhere and nowhere at once. Daryl looked around, then back towards the deer. It had run off as the voice continued, "Oooooo."

"Who's there? Ya best show yerself! Already cost me dinner." Daryl growled.

"Ooooo...heh heh heh ha ha ha ha!" The voice started chuckling. Daryl knew that laugh anywhere. "What's the matter, baby brother, hearing things? You look like you seen a chupacabra."

"Merle? But, you're dead. I saw you, put you down myself." Daryl replied in disbelief, staring at the spectral figure of his deceased brother. Merle's form flickered with a dark, otherworldly glow. He was wrapped in what looked like miles of chains. They clinked and clattered, making an ungodly sound.

"That's right, boy. The Governor finally got ol' Merle Dixon. He got me good." Merle's ghost mused.

"I'm sorry I wasn't there in time, Merle." Daryl apologized. "I did what I had to do to make sure you didn't hurt anybody else...to preserve your memory."

"Don't go all sissy on me now, baby brother." Merle taunted. His expression turned sad, with a hint of something else. "Ya' did right by puttin' me down. Stop lettin' that haunt 'ya."

"You come all the way from the great beyond to tell me that? Huh?" Daryl sneered. He had seen and heard hallucinations of his older brother before, but something told him that this was different. The world had become a strange enough place with the dead coming back, but now the twice-dead had to intrude on the living? "Whaddaya want, Merle? Come to gloat about how I ain't doin' this or that the right way?"

"I come to warn you," Merle drew himself up and pointed a finger, on his good hand, at Daryl. "You cannot give up hope." Daryl snorted and gave Merle an implacable look. "I know," Merle conceded, "I hardly seem like one to talk. But, I tell you this world has enough grief and sorrow in it. It needs hope...for the future, for the good in others...for miracles. I gave up on all of those things long ago and now I'm forced to wear these chains for all eternity. I've seen your chains, baby brother, and they're growing longer and heavier than these by the day. You were doin' good for a while there with that cute little blondie..."

"Don't talk about Beth!" Daryl snapped. "You didn't even know her."

"No, but I know she gave you hope, boy." Merle snapped back. "You need to find that again before it's too late. What better time than Christmas for miracles?"

Daryl scoffed, "Christmas? We ain't never had no Christmas. Least not like normal folks. As for Beth...she's dead. Don't matter no more. None of it matters. Just go away."

"I'll go," Merle replied. "But, hear me, boy. You're gonna be visited by three more ghosts tonight. If ya' know what's good for ya', you'll listen to 'em." With that, Merle walked off into the woods. Daryl could see his glow become fainter with each step until he was gone. Daryl rubbed his eyes. When he opened them again, he found deer tracks. He could still catch up with his dinner.

Daryl tried to focus on tracking the deer, but he found himself distracted as Merle's words weighed heavily upon him. He was so distracted that he didn't hear the light giggling sound until it was just a few feet away. He turned, raising his crossbow just in time to see a ghostly figure of a young girl disappear behind a tree. Then, he heard her giggling a few feet behind him. He turned again. "Who are you? It ain't safe to be out here alone."

"And yet, you're out here." The girl taunted. There was something familiar about her voice, thought Daryl. "Come on, Daryl...let's play hide and seek."

"I ain't in the mood for games." Daryl growled. "Now c'mon out where I can see you."

The ghostly figure stepped out from behind the tree, pouting. "You're no fun."

Daryl froze in disbelief. Standing before him was Sophia, with an ethereal aura, like Merle, only brighter, purer, clearer. She looked just as he chose to remember her, that is to say, the way she looked before she walked out of Hershel's barn as a walker.

"Sophia?" Daryl asked in a whisper. "Is that you?"

The ghost girl replied, "I am the Ghost of Christmas Past. I am here to show you visions of what has been. Come with me." She held out a hand to Daryl. He eyed her warily for a moment, the ghost never wavering. Finally, he took her hand and they were rushing through the woods at break-neck speed, zipping around trees so fast Daryl thought he might be sick. They stopped suddenly outside of a cabin in the middle of the woods.

Daryl looked around in confusion. "How did we do that? Where are we?"

The ghost looked at him mirthfully. "Doesn't this place look familiar to you, Daryl? It's where you grew up. Come look closer." She beckoned him forward to the window. "Don't be scared, they can't see or hear us."

"I ain't scared of nuthin'," Daryl spat as he shuffled up to the window. Peering inside he saw himself as a small boy. Young Daryl was sitting alone at the kitchen table coloring on a piece of paper. He worked deliberately at his coloring for several minutes, then folded the piece of paper in half and continued coloring. His father was passed out in his plush chair, half empty bottle of alcohol in his hand. The house was a quarter-step up from being a ramshackle hut. Empty bottles littered the corner near the elder Dixon's chair; newspapers were stacked up in another corner, and dirty dishes littered the entire kitchen.

The young boy finished his little art project and hopped down from the kitchen chair and walked carefully over to his sleeping father. "Papa?" He said softly. His father stirred in his chair and his head lolled over to the left to gaze blearily at the boy. "Papa, can I have some money, please?"

His father started to respond with a rumble, then cleared his throat. "Whadda you need money for, boy?" he slurred. "You ain't done nuthin' to earn it. All you and your worthless brother do is take. Gimme food, gimme money, gimme, gimme, gimme." His voice grew louder the more he woke up. He took a long tug from his bottle as he fumbled with his belt with the other hand. Finally freeing the belt, he raised it above his head and brought it down across the boy's back. "Ya' ain't lernt no manners, boy. Gonna teach ya' yer place."

"Please, Papa, I just wanted to buy Mama somethin' nice for Christmas." The boy pleaded as his father hit him.

The ghost laid a hand on Daryl's arm, which he jerked away. "This was the last time you even tried to celebrate Christmas. Your father stole that from you. Over the years you would become almost as angry and bitter as him. Eventually you robbed yourself of joy and hope, because you couldn't remember how to feel them."

The older Daryl at the window turned to the ghost with a tear in his eye and said, "I don't wanna be here. Take me somewhere else. Anywhere." The ghost nodded somberly. As she led him away, he glanced back briefly to the homemade Christmas card on the table that his younger self had been coloring, fighting back something...some long-lost emotion.

When he turned back to the ghost, they were zipping through the woods again. This time they stopped on the edge of a graveyard. Daryl saw himself...and Beth. He was giving her a piggy-back ride towards a house sitting on the other side of the graveyard. They stopped in front of one of the grave markers. Daryl saw himself holding her hand, nervously. "This wasn't too long ago." The ghost said. "You had long since convinced yourself that there wasn't good in people anymore. She showed you that there was still hope for this world. She helped you believe, and started to restore your faith in humanity."

"Yeah, well...she's dead, isn't she?" Daryl lashed out. "What good did her faith do her? Huh? In the end it doesn't matter. Why show me these things? So I can see that I had hope once? That don't bring her back! It don't bring Merle back! All the people we lost and this world is no better off...the walkers keep coming and the only people who have survived this long have compromised themselves!" When he had finished his tirade, he realized that he was alone. The ghost was gone. He looked around for her, but only found fresh deer tracks. He was starting to wonder if he was losing his mind. Maybe the woods were messing with his head.

Daryl continued following the deer tracks, wondering if any of this was real, and worrying that he was beginning to believe it was. Up ahead, he saw another bright glow, similar to Sophia's, but brighter. As he drew nearer, he could see it was an older man with white hair and a beard. The ghost's familiar face shone with wisdom and benevolence. "Hershel?" Daryl asked, shielding his eyes from the brightness.

"I am the Ghost of Christmas Present," the ghost replied. "Come closer and know me better, man." Daryl slowly drew closer and saw that the ghost looked like Hershel, standing solidly on both feet. "Come, I have things to show you and my time is short; for my time is the present and it is a fleeting thing. Here one moment, gone the next. This is why it is so important to make the most of it while it's here." The ghost held out his hand for Daryl.

"I'm guessing I ain't got no choice...lead on spirit," Daryl said in a resigned tone, taking the ghost's hand. "Just promise me you ain't gonna zip me through the woods." As soon as the words left Daryl's mouth, the ghost turned and together they stepped around a tree; suddenly they were back at the camp with Rick and the others. They were sitting around a campfire sharing a meal together. Twenty feet away, Daryl could see a make-shift Christmas tree made from a bunch of branches adorned in knick-knacks as ornaments. Next to their tree were crudely wrapped items.

"It's a simple Christmas that they share, but a Christmas nonetheless," said the ghost. "Even in the midst of the adversities of this world, they still find time for family. They spend time with one another and share their hopes and dreams with one another."

"You think Daryl's alright out there alone?" asked Glenn, concern evident in his voice. "He took Beth's death pretty hard. He hasn't been the same since."

Rick replied, "He'll be fine, just let him blow off some steam and he'll be back."

"I don't know, Rick. He stormed off in a pretty big huff after his 'Christmas is a waste of time' tirade," Glenn said.

"He'll come back. He always does," Rick countered. "He wouldn't turn his back on his family. That's what we are...family. C'mon, are we singing carols or what?"

The ghost turned to Daryl. "They haven't given up on you, even when you've given up on yourself. Rick has faith that you believe in the importance of being there for your family. He believes that there's hope for the future." Everyone around the campfire started singing Christmas carols. After carols, they exchanged gifts and spent the rest of the evening chatting and enjoying each other's company and remembering together those that they lost.

When Daryl turned back to the ghost, he was back in the woods and he could see the ghost fading away in a tapestry of gossamer lights. "One ghost remains..." it said as it trailed off. The woods seemed darker now as a fog rolled in, blanketing the ground in clouds. In the distance, Daryl saw a shadowy figure approaching through the fog.

"You the ghost of Christmas future?" He asked in a tone that was perhaps a bit snarkier than he intended. The cloaked figure nodded. "You're gonna show me my future?" The figure beckoned him forward. Daryl complied, following behind the ghost as it led him deeper into the fog.

Soon, the fog swept away from the immediate area as if it were suddenly fleeing from the presence of the ghost. They were in a crude cemetery; with a few dozen graves, all marked with crosses made of sticks in place of headstones. Daryl saw older versions of Rick, Carl, and Michonne standing in front of a grave. "If only Daryl would have been there, Judith would still be alive," insisted Carl. "I can't believe he just gave up on us and left."

"He didn't give up on us, Carl," corrected Rick. "He gave up on himself. There wasn't enough of the man he once was left." He put his sheriff's hat back on and gestured that it was time to go.

A twinge of guilt shot through Daryl. "Not L'il Asskicker. Tell me, is this a vision of the future or a vision of a possible future? Can I still change these events?" The ghost merely beckoned him over to another grave and gestured toward the cross. Daryl leaned in and squinted. Etched into the wood was the name DARYL DIXON. "I ain't scared of dyin', but I can't let them down...not like this." He dropped to his knees in front of the grave. "I won't give up hope. I won't give up on my family. I swear I'll keep faith in the goodness of people alive in my heart."

Daryl looked through the fog and saw a bright light, like the sun, pouring out from inside the ghost's hood. As the ghost pulled back the hood, he could see that it was not so much a glow as her blond hair falling out upon her shoulder. "What about me Daryl? Have you given up on me too?"

"Beth?"

"I told you...you'd miss me so bad when I was gone, Daryl Dixon."

There was a flash of light and she was gone. He was still sitting in front of a grave, but it was no longer his. It was Beth's grave that the group had dug for her after the incident at the hospital...except that the dirt was all loose, as if someone had climbed out of it. He looked over and saw fresh footprints in the snow leading down the road...and they were most definitely not walker tracks.

"Well, I'll be...it really is a Christmas miracle." He said aloud as he shouldered his crossbow and hurriedly followed the footprints.


End file.
